In the Dark
by Lula Bo
Summary: What happens when the power goes out in Stars Hollow? Mid-to-end S4: LL, slightly Rory-centric. Rated for language. Please read respond. Complete (so far).
1. One: Lorelai

**Spoilers:** Takes place after "Afterboom," before "Luke Can See Her Face."

**Disclaimer:** The Gilmores and Stars Hollow don't belong to me, and I didn't think them up. But I sure do love them.

**Author's notes:** This is my first fanfic ever. Ever, ever. Please read and respond, tell me how I'm doing. Thanks.

**In the Dark,  
By Lula Bo**

The wind picked up as Lorelai walked to the house. She moved at her own, regular, hyper-caffeinated pace, but even she had felt hurried, pushed by the steady hand of the wind at the small of her back. She picked her way up the walk and the porch, gesticulating wildly, "all right, already, all right, already!"

She thought vaguely, as she fished for her cell phone in her purse, clutching a stack of mail under her chin, and opening the door simultaneously, that the air smelled of rain. But there were too many other things pressing on her brain at the moment, too many other concerns squabbling with each other for her attention, all declared in that loud, imperious voice she'd come to loathe whenever she thought of something else to do. "Laundry! Call Rory! Tell Tom the doorknob to the bathroom in the honeymoon suite is loose!" She thought dully that she'd been multitasking for so long she was no longer capable of doing one thing at a time.

She struggled to still her thoughts for a moment, stumbling over the pile of shoes by the door. Squaring her shoulders, she hit the light switch on the way to the computer and made her worries march to her orders, rather than weary herself marching to theirs. There was plenty of time for that, she thought, pushing smaller concerns—whether or not she had remembered to get the oil changed in the Jeep last month, where her pretty black thong (not the one with the tear in the elastic or the one with sequins or the one with "hottt!!!" in pink letters on the waistband) had gotten to, whether or not Jason had found an appropriately dank hole in which to while away his sad and tiring existence for the rest of eternity, when her father would look her full in the eye again, coffee—to the back of the line and calling up the greater ones for immediate attention. Immediately, she revised: coffee first. She hit the power button on Rory's old blueberry laptop and went to fill the carafe for a fresh pot in the kitchen.

The coffee perked while she fired up her browser. She'd long ago given in: no matter how she'd protested, how she'd said she liked to walk around, dance, make a sandwich, and play all she wanted, dial-up ceased to be amusing when Rory left for Yale and email became ever more important. And, because she'd never really made herself a sandwich anyway, she'd taken the financial bullet for broadband. She could pull the belt tighter by forgoing take out for some fresh food (as much as she'd tried to avoid it) and she could cinch it again by downsizing cable if it meant she could send Rory twenty annoying emails a day rather than the ten she could fire out on the dial-up.

She deleted three immediately, all from Michel, all complaints, and nothing he hadn't already told her when he'd chastised her for not checking her email before she'd come to work, immediately detailing what exactly each had stated. One, she knew, was devoted solely to the ways in which her Inn was eating into his time with his puppies. A few from Rory, to be read later, one from the decorator, asking again for another photo session for her portfolio… Lorelai put her hand to her forehead: they were all in this vein, nothing she couldn't put off for another few days, nothing that would send the opening to a screeching halt, and nothing she'd really had to come home for in the first place. She kicked off her heels and wandered to the kitchen, grabbing her cell from the couch where she'd dropped it.

"Hey, babe," she said, "me again. Just wondering what you were up to. Hey, did you know it's possible to get not only your own hand stuck in a sink drain, but the hands of two other people as well? I know, sounds unlikely, but Sookie once again proves that which is unlikely is not impossible. Call me when you can."

She took a moment after pouring her coffee in the kitchen to listen to the wind. It wailed under the eaves and whistled faintly in the loose frame by the back door. Unbidden came the commanding voice, telling her that she should get Luke to come over and fix it. She told the commanding voice to shut it. She was sick of it. Although, she thought, leaning into her cup, letting the steam wake her up again, there were a couple of other things she could use Luke for around the house—the faucet upstairs was making a disturbing noise like a choking kitten whenever she turned it on and she had a light bulb on the stairway that kept popping whenever she hit the switch, plus the window frame and besides, she could use a shoulder in the middle of the night when the worries woke her. A shoulder, among other things. She rubbed the space between her eyes with her fingertips, wondering where that last thought had come from. The cell rang.

"Mom, I just missed you. Hand in the drain?"

"Oh, honey, you don't even know. Three hands in the drain. Hey, where are you? I'm hearing suspiciously un-Yale-like noises there. Did you finally get that band of back-up singers you've always wanted?"

"Mom."

"What are they wearing? Did you get Robert Palmer girls and not let me watch the auditions?"

"Actually," and she drew out the word the way people do when they preface something that won't necessarily be welcomed to the listener, "I'm at Lane's."

"You're at Lane's."

"Tanna and Janine and everyone are packing up and we discovered we had three microwaves and none of us need them for the summer, so I thought I'd bring them down for Lane since, you know, she's without all the amenities at her new place. Just dropping in for a minute. I was going to come see you at the inn, I swear," Rory said.

"Rory, that's fine. Whatever, Lane needs three microwaves, Sookie's got her arm in a sling, Michel's dog-obsessed, the roof may or may not come off in this wind, and my head is threatening to start spinning full circles like Linda Blair before it pops off my body altogether. The sky is dark at three in the afternoon and the world is coming to an end. It's going to be very War of the Worlds, I hear," she said. "If you get a chance to stop in, I would love to see you. If you don't, I'll see you soon anyway."

"You have time for a cup of coffee at Luke's, later?"

"Rory. This is Mom, here. I always have time for a cup of coffee at Luke's."

"—reat. I—eet—ere—a—r?"

"What? Rory, you're cutting out. You're like… something that's cutting out." She paused. "And that was lame. I'm tapped."

"—om?"

"Rory?"

"—an't hear you. L—s—r?"

"L—s—r, right, Rory, honey, just call me later."

As Lorelai spoke the phone cut out, the lights flickered three times and died. She stared in horror at the phone in her hand and looked around the house, her mouth agape. She stamped her foot, just once. "No, no, no," she said. "Not happening, too much to do!" She ran in stocking feet towards the living room, knocking into the end table and tripping over her shoes, stopping short in front of the dead face of her laptop. "Oh, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad, I've got things to do, too many things to do!" She put her forehead in her hand, leaning forward. "Okay, Lorelai, take it down a notch, you're edging on Rainman territory here: you've got things to do, meaning what? Letters to write, for which you need a computer, which currently you don't have and the laptop battery is crap because Rory's a workaholic and wore it down, so you need power and the power's out, so what do people do when the power is out to get the power to be not out?" She took a breath. "They get a generator—who do you know with a generator?" Her head shot up with realization and she was up the stairs, tearing off her thin, pretty (pretty) black blouse with the embroidery and unzipping the skirt before she'd made it to the top stair, stepping out of her skirt as she passed through the door. She tripped over the pile of jeans by the bedside table, falling into the bed and jarring her elbow against the table top.

"Fuck, fuckity, fuck fuck fuck!" she crowed, dropping to her knees and cupping her elbow in her opposite hand. "Fuck." She grabbed the first pair of jeans available and hiked herself into them, trying to ignore the pain. She hurtled herself over the bed and grabbed a tee out of the closet and a pair of flip flops—the air smelled like rain, the wind was at a terrible pitch, but chances were she could sprint into town before the storm began or got too heavy. She ran back down the stairs, pausing to hop and loose whatever was suck in the left leg of her jeans. She stooped to pick it up—there was the good thong. Without thinking, she jammed it into her pocket and grabbed her keys on the way out the door. Damned stupid idea to leave the Jeep at the inn.

As Lorelai rounded the corner, the rain began to fall.


	2. Two: Rory and Lane

"No, really," Lane said. "You're a godsend. Microwave means microwave popcorn, and hot things, and more food." She put her arms around one of the appliances that Brian and Zach had hauled up from Rory's car. "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Rory nodded, her lips pursed together. "You really need to get out more," she told her friend.

Lane sighed and dropped to the floor of her new bedroom. "Tell me about it. I'm hanging out with Goofus and Gallant all day and slinging hash at the diner. My boyfriend lives in California with girls in bikinis and I'm stuck here."

"Tell me you did not just say 'slinging has at the diner.'"

Lane put her head in her hands. "Kill me now!"

Rory sat on the bed and tucked her knees up to her chest. "So are things going okay?"

Lane tilted her head and considered. "Okay. The band's okay, we're getting along, I think it's going to work out. I like working at the diner."

Rory gave her friend a disbelieving look. "I meant with your mom."

"You mean my mom and the pod person that's now wearing my second least favorite sweater and eating my apples?"

Rory tried not to snicker. "Yeah, that's what I meant."

"I'm not happy about it, no. Weirdly enough, I miss my mom. I mean, living on your own is fine, but knowing you can't go home? Sucks. You're lucky. Lorelai'd never disown you," Lane said.

"She's already done everything worth being disowned for anyway. It would be redundant," Rory said. "And look at how she turned out."

"When we were little, I always wanted to live at your house. You got to eat cake for breakfast, you could listen to whatever you wanted, you never had to read the Bible, and you had not one but two cool wardrobes at your disposal. I had hayrides with future proctologists and soy muffins that walked on their own if they weren't consumed within twenty-four hours."

"Oh, Lane, think about it this way: if you hadn't had all that, if you hadn't grown up at your house, you'd be someone else. You wouldn't be Lane Kim, and who knows, maybe we wouldn't even be friends."

The two girls sat a moment, contemplating the idea.

"Way to kill a conversation, Rory," Rory said.

"Seriously," Lane said, and laughed. She turned her head towards the door. "Is that your cell?" As Rory rose and ran into the outer room, Lane got down flat on her belly on the floor, propped her chin in her hands, and stared at her microwave. "I love you, microwave. You may not be mine, but I love you. I'm going to be so good to you this summer, you have no idea, and you in turn will reward me with the bounty of your electrical microwaves." She saw Rory in the reflection of the microwave door, her arms crossed over her stomach. She lifted herself and peered over her shoulder. "I am in love with this microwave."

"I'm meeting Lorelai at Luke's at four for coffee. I think. Want to come?"

Lane sat up and brushed her hands over her shirt front. "Sure. Meanwhile, let's go to Doose's and buy things that you can cook in the microwave. Oh, EasyMac!"

As she spoke, the lights flickered and went out.

Rory sat beside Lane on the floor. "Guess we're not going to the market."

"Guess not."


	3. Three: Luke

The diner had cleared out by the time the wind reached its peak and the power blew. The lunch crowd was gone and mid-afternoon loiterers—namely Kirk—were driven home or back to work by the overhanging clouds. The day felt close, Luke thought, with the clouds pressing down so low he could feel them on his shoulders. He took advantage of the lull to sit himself down for a moment and bear the weight. Or think about not bearing it, for once, perhaps. He tossed away the towel he'd been using to wipe down the counter and slumped where he sat. Damned weather.

When the power went, his eyes rolled of their own accord and he stood, calling to Caesar in the kitchen. "Fire up the generator—I gotta clean the coffee pots."

Luke didn't expect anyone to venture out in this, but this was Stars Hollow and was never fully safe to expectations. He'd let the coffee perk, keep it warm, turn off the generator after a half hour or so to keep it running the duration of the storm, and sit. He'd never really had the inclination to just sit, or if he'd had, he hadn't seen fit to indulge it, but this week, this week—it didn't bear finishing the thought. This week, his brain began again, in that overwhelmingly irritating and bossy voice, was the week you went to a _Mailboxes, Etc_, of all places, and signed your divorce papers, which were notarized by _Kirk,_ of all people, while he and Lorelai conducted a conversation about novelty stamps and classic television show, of all things. This week has not been like other weeks. Luke shook his head, hoping to rattle the voice out of place and regain control of his brain. He went to stand at the front window and watched the rain a moment. It came down in sheets. Taylor would be pissed at the potential damage to the foliage in the square. The thought made Luke smile, and he turned on his heel.

"Caesar, I'm going upstairs."

The grunt in response told him Caesar would most likely call him if he were needed. Luke wandered around his apartment a moment, picking things up and putting them down again, unsure of himself, what he needed to do, what he wanted to do. He grabbed a tennis ball from the closet, sat under the window, and threw the ball against the wall opposite him, letting it bounce before he caught it one handed. He let himself be dulled by the rhythm he created: throw—bounce—bounce—catch. Throw—bounce—bounce—catch. In this rhythm he did not hear: your marriage failed; Nicole cheated; your marriage failed; Nicole cheated. He did not hear: relationships suck; you'll never be happy; relationships suck; you'll never be happy. He did not hear: it might be worth it; you have to try again; it might be worth it; you have to try again. He concentrated on the torrential downpour at his window and the comforting, dull pattern of throw—bounce—bounce—catch.


	4. Four: Lorelai and Luke

The diner was only this empty in the wee smalls of the morning or after ten at night, when the denizens of Stars Hollow were snoozing to the early night news on UPN. Lorelai threw the door open and made a beeline for the counter, yelling "coffee! Must have coffee! Luke!" She heard herself shouting and Luke's name becoming a cattle call as she stretched out the central vowel.

Luke's throw faltered when he heard the sound of that voice hollering his name, and the ball bounced feebly against the wall and rolled towards the corner, away from him. He pushed himself to his feet and jammed his hat back on his head. He was at the bottom of the stairs by the second time she called for him, back behind the counter before either she or Caesar saw him. He smothered a grin at her appearance.

Lorelai shivered, dripping on the linoleum, her hair plastered to her face and her shirt suctioned to her body. Her jeans were thick with water. Caesar appeared in the doorframe behind the counter.

"Speak, image!" she said.

"Luke's upstairs. You want coffee?"

"Of course she wants coffee," Luke said; "she's breathing, isn't she?"

Lorelai jumped slightly and put a hand to her throat. "Jesus, Luke, scare a person to death, why don't you? But give her coffee first."

He poured a mugful of coffee for her and walked around the counter, holding it in front of him. She reached for it and he began walking backwards, holding it out of her reach. "C'mon," he said.

"Evil, satanic man, what are you doing? Withholding coffee from a dying woman, that's what you're doing!"

"You have to get out of those clothes," he said. "Look at you."

"I don't have to look at me," Lorelai said. "I'm like Helen Hunt showing up at Jack Nicholson's door but with the benefit of a bra," she said. It was only then that she remembered the bra was black and the tee shirt pink, which, while usually not a problem, could be considered slightly inappropriate in the current circumstance. She wrapped her arms around herself and followed him upstairs.

Luke turned and lead the way to his apartment as she covered herself, allowing himself a slight smile. While he normally did not have opinions on the unmentionables of the opposite sex—nor did he, if he admitted it, give himself the opportunity of enjoying a gander at said unmentionables—he had to say the brief glimpse he'd had of Lorelai's own unmentionable had not been unpleasant. Nor was what it protected altogether unpleasant either. Both thoughts, however, were fleeting, nothing more than a twitch of the lips and a flash of an image in his brain, nothing bound to words, as words were often troublesome where Lorelai was concerned.

He put the coffee on the table by the door and went immediately to his own wardrobe, yanking out a long sleeved tee and an old pair of sweatpants he wouldn't admit he'd worn in years. As an afterthought, he pulled a pair of boxers from another drawer and momentarily contemplated them before turning around.

Lorelai held the coffee cup under her chin, protecting her chest, and grinned broadly. "Luke Danes, there aren't enough 'Dirty!'s in the _world_ for that," she said, laughing.

"Right, right," he said, tossing the boxers over his shoulders, "you're right." He thrust the tee and pants at her and she took another sip of coffee, looking at him archly over the rim of her cup.

"What, you want me to get dressed right here in front of you?" she said. "I'm not Madonna and this ain't no peep show, buster."

He rolled his eyes and loudly expelled a breath through his nose. "There's a bathroom right behind you, moron."

"Sweet talker," she said, and placed the coffee cup on the table. She reached one hand out for the clothes and taking them, turned on her heel and went into his bathroom.

"There are towels in the closet there. What are you doing out in this, anyway?" he asked, keeping himself at a distance from the bathroom door.

"I was feeling frisky!" she said. "You know, spring's sprung, I'm just springing along."

"Lorelai," he said.

"Power's out," she said, "and you have a generator." She opened the door and poked her head around, smiled and batted her lashed. "And you're pretty."

"Power's out, I have a generator, and you've got an inn opening in less than a month."

"Bingo," she said, stepping out of the bathroom. She practically swam in his clothes, the shirt falling to mid-thigh. She kept one hand at the waistband of the pants to keep them from falling to her ankles. "Thanks for the clothes," she said. "And for the coffee. Don't suppose you'd let a lady take a gander at your computer, though, would you?"

"What do you have to do on the computer?"

"Inn business, boring stuff," she said.

"What's wrong with your computer?"

Lorelai narrowed her eyes and smiled tolerantly. "Well, it's at my house, where there's no power, and where my laptop is gasping its final dying breath, pleading with me not to abuse it by taking it off the power source. Ever. What, do you not have a computer?"

"I have a computer."

"You have illicit material on there you don't want me to see? 'Cause let me tell you, that stuff? Not going to upset me."

"What?"

"Girlie type pictures. On your computer. You're a man, you download things."

"I do not download things."

"Then what?"

"My computer's… busted."

"Busted."

"Broken. Malfunctioning. Not working. Out of service."

"I know what busted means. That was an attempt to get you to elaborate."

Luke shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet, not meeting Lorelai's eyes as he spoke. "I broke it last week," he said.

"Doing what?"

He cleared his throat. "You know. Hit it with a bat."

"You hit your computer with a bat?"

He looked up. "Yeah."

"A baseball bat?"

"No, a fruit bat that flies at night. Yes, Lorelai, a baseball bat," he said. Suddenly feeling too big for the space they were sharing, he pushed past her towards the bathroom and picked her wet clothes off the floor.

"Why did you hit your computer with a baseball bat?"

He threw the tee shirt over the shower rod, adjusting it so it hung evenly. "It was irritating me."

"What, did it start singing Gilbert and Sullivan at you in the middle of the night? Tell you, 'I'm sorry, Luke, I'm afraid I can't do that,' when you placed a bulk order for flannel shirts on the L.L. Bean website? What?" Lorelai came to stand in the doorway, cradling her coffee mug in her hands. "Luke?"

He held her jeans in his hands and twisted the waistband, looking once again at the floor. He shrugged. "Just hit it," he said, absently working his hands into the pants pockets. He latched onto what felt like a wad of wet tissues and pulled it out, turning to hang her jeans alongside the tee shirt. He looked down at the crumpled black ball in his hand for a moment before turning and offering it to Lorelai. "Lose these?" he asked.

She snatched the thong from his hand. "Sorry." She stood uncertainly, her eyes darting about for a safe place to put them. She had no pockets. She swallowed. "You want to talk about it?"

"You're the one with the panties in your hand." When he heard the word 'panties' leave his own mouth he could feel himself blush to his hairline.

Again with the grinning, he thought, seeing Lorelai's face blossom with glee. "I just got Luke Danes to say 'panties,'" she said. "Do it again, I want to get it on tape and charge tickets!"

He grabbed the tangled lace from her hand and tossed it in the sink, pushing her out of the bathroom. "I'm not saying pant—that word again and we're not going to talk about anything."

"Luke," Lorelai began.

"Not talking," he said. "Caesar! Pour the lady another cup and turn off the generator!"

Lorelai gasped. "Turn off the power? Why, why, why would you do that?"

"So it'll last longer," he said. "Sit, I'll make you a sandwich."

"I can come," she said, moving to follow.

"Sit," he said, putting out his hand, his palm towards her. "Just sit."


	5. Five: Lorelai, Luke, and Harvey

Lorelai sat and watched him go. She didn't think she'd been alone in this apartment before. She bounced on the bed, lifting her rear slightly and settling herself down on the mattress. It was good mattress, she thought, springy. She tucked her legs up under her and let her eyes explore the walls, the slick wood surfaces—the interior was dark, soft wood, inviting, warm. This, she thought, is a comforting place; this is a Luke place. She nestled herself back against the wall and closed her eyes. She wanted to call Rory despite the bad service. This whole afternoon was turning out very oddly and she wanted the sound of her daughter's voice to even out the waves in her brain and to tell her what to look for, to ask for details and further lines of questioning. And mostly, she wished she weren't still wearing the bra because it was starting to dry and itch like a motherfucker.

Luke slapped together a few sandwiches while Caesar puttered—though puttered was too active a phrase for what Caesar was currently doing—about, threw a few Danishes on a plate, poured some more coffee, and plated some pie—as this was, of course, Lorelai—and loaded up a tray. He racked his brain for possible topics of conversation that would not involve the computer or the baseball bat or the reason he'd so intimately acquainted those two objects with one another. At the moment, there was nothing. Well, nothing except for the panties, and that was not an area he felt comfortable revisiting. Caesar shut down the generator and Luke walked back to his apartment in the dark.

When Lorelai heard Luke's step on the stairs, she was in the process of extricating herself from her bra and adjusting her eyes to the dark. Panicked, she yanked it off, rose, and shoved it under the bed as she dropped to the floor.

"What are you doing on the floor?" he asked.

"Well, we're in the middle of the storm."

His expression clearly said, "and?"

"It just makes more sense to be sitting on the floor when there's a storm like this one going on, in case, you know, something heavy were to fall, we won't be in the line of descent." She was hardly aware of the words coming from her mouth at the moment, only intensely aware of the bra just behind her, under Luke's bed.

"Here. Food. Eat."

Lorelai bit back a retort and did as she was told. She made her way slowly through the chicken sandwich, watching him as he ate. His jaw was tense, and he didn't meet her eye. She pulled off the crusts of her sandwich and deposited them on his plate. "They make your hair curly, you know," she told him, and he grunted. She reached for a Danish.

"So, how are you? Really. Just curious, what with the computer bashing. And also, the car assaulting. You doing okay?"

"Me?"

Lorelai snorted into her coffee cup. "No, Harvey, the six foot rabbit sitting beside you. Yes, you."

He looked at his hands, nodded. "Fine. I'm fine."

"Really, fine. So you're not experiencing any pangs of any sort? Relief, regret, remorse, guilt, any kind of pangs?"

"Pangs?"

"You know, pangs. Something, some sort of emotional thing that hits you when you least expect it, when you weren't really thinking about it. Therefore, when it hits you, it's so sudden that it's very overwhelming. Like hunger, when all of a sudden, you're hungry, and you didn't realize that you'd been hungry, but you'd really been hungry for a while, and you've only just noticed that you're hungry. Then all you can think about is that you're hungry, and it's just sitting in your stomach not going anywhere. You know, pangs. They're called pangs."

"I know what pangs are, Lorelai, I'm just not having them," he said shortly.

"No pangs, then."

"No pangs, no pangs of any kind."

"Good. Good, no pangs is good."

He paused. "What about you? You having any pangs?"

"Me? Pangs?"

"No, Harvey the rabbit. You, pangs."

"What kinds of pangs?"

"Relief, regret, remorse, guilt, any kinds of pangs."

"Huh. Ah, no. You know. There are several kinds of pangs. It's a funny word, isn't it, pangs? It's interesting that every time you say a word it just ceases to have any kind of meanings. Pangs. Pangs. Pangs."

"Lorelai."

"Pangs. Pangs. You know, there are lots of words like that. Pangs, hangs, fangs…"

"Lorelai."

Lorelai sighed. "I have some pangs." He looked at her. "Too many things. Parents. Life. Inn."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Oh, no. Because talking about it would mean I have to think about it, and I've decided that given your computer has been grand slammed to the great Best Buy in the sky, that a power outage is the perfect opportunity to do as little thinking as possible. Really, thinking is what gets you to a place where all you can do is think. All you can do is think, think, think, and the worries come and they just keep compiling and growing and the worries keep coming, and suddenly all you can think about is all the worries that you have and the worries that you haven't thought of yet and the pressure in the brain, it just gets to be—"

Luke put out his hand, touched Lorelai's wrist. "Lorelai."

She looked up at him and locked eyes with his. She nodded. "I know, sorry."

"Don't apologize."

She rubbed her eyes. "Man, I'm tired. Are you tired? Am I getting old? Don't answer that."

"You know, if you drank less coffee, you could slow down a little bit," Luke said.

Lorelai looked at him pointedly and chugged half her coffee cup. "Blasphemer," she said.

They sat in silence for a moment. Lorelai stuck her finger in one of the Danish and licked the jam. "Jam is good." She let the sentence ring in her brain a moment. "This is what my life is coming to, Luke. The only coherent statement I'm capable of making is 'jam is good.'"

Luke regarded her in silence a moment. "I might be having pangs."

Her face softened. "Luke, I'm so sorry. About Nicole, you know, that's not what you deserved."

"Shit happens, you know? What are you gonna do?"

Lorelai put her coffee cup down and placed her hand on his, her eyes full. "You can admit it. That you're going through it. Not assault cars, not beat up your computer. Talk about how you got divorced in a Mailboxes Etc. and had to be fingerprinted like Kirk."

He stared at their hands together until discomfort began creeping up his neck. He felt exposed, naked. His eyes wandered. "Lorelai?"

"Yeah?"

"There's a bra under my bed."

"Oh, shit," she said, scooting back to hide it with her butt. "I'm like a lingerie-shedding snake today."

They looked at each other over the tray of food and began to laugh.


	6. Six: Rory, Lane, and More Me

"Wait, so Dean asks you to come into an alley with him?"

"Yes," Rory said.

"And then he tells you he wants to be friends?"

"Again, yes."

"That? Is weird."

Rory shifted where she sat and shrugged one shoulder and then the other. "I don't know—it didn't feel right. I felt so… shifty. But then again, it's Dean, you know?"

Lane nodded sagely. "It's Dean. So what are you going to do?"

With a sigh, she said, "try to mind my own business? I don't know. Concentrate on school, probably. It's all I can really do, right?"

"Because you can't really mind your own business," Lane said.

"Lane!"

"I mean, he's making you his business, right?"

"I guess." Rory threw herself back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. "I don't know how Brian and Zach can sleep through this."

"I know, right? It's so bizarre: the minute the lights go out, they just pass out," Lane said.

"They're like a psychology experiment. They're the Pavlovian dogs of power outs."

"Boys are seriously weird."

Rory propped herself up on one hand. "Do you miss Dave?"

Lane shrugged. "I do, sometimes. When I need someone to talk to. When I ran away, I did. When we go to gigs and everyone's got someone there but me."

"You know as soon as school gets out, I'm there," Rory said.

"It's not that. It's more than just having _someone_, you know, it's about having the someone you most want there not there. But he's doing well, and he calls when he can. But he's busy. College changes things. You know," Lane said.

"Yeah. I know it's not the same, but you can call me whenever you want," Rory told her.

"I know." She paused. "But at the same time, it's not like when you went to Chilton and you were home at night and in the afternoon and on weekends. I mean, in high school you had this whole other life, too, but it's not the same. You've got this whole other life now. I've got this whole other life now. My mom's replaced me—"

"Lane, she hasn't replaced you," Rory said.

Lane looked at Rory darkly over the frames of her glasses. "My mom's got a real, live Korean girl living in her house, eating her food and doing everything she's supposed to. You're away a lot, I've got the band, Lorelai's got the inn, Dave's at school, I'm living with boys… everything's different."

Rory laid herself back down and thought about it, watching the shadows on the ceiling. "I haven't thought about it much. I still feel like me."

"Well, I still feel like me, but I feel like I have to stretch myself out—like I'm me, but there's more of me to be."

"Huh."

A boy emitted a loud snort from the other room. Lane shook her head. "At least I'm not missing out on the dorm experience."

"At least that," Rory said. She closed her eyes and thought about what her friend had just said. "There's more of me to be," she said, under her breath. It was an idea that would need time to digest. More of me to be, she thought. Huh.


	7. Seven: Luke, Lorelai, Harvey, and Taylor

Luke and Lorelai had been quiet some time. Luke had forgotten about the generator and Lorelai didn't bring it up. Without the computer, there really wasn't much point. Besides, she thought, she liked sitting in the dark with Luke, being quiet. It was restful.

"They're funny things, pangs, aren't they," she said, at length.

"Are we on this again?" Luke asked.

"Well, it's just that unless you notice them, you're not having them. And when you stop thinking about them, you're not having them again."

"They're like accidents that way, I guess," Luke said. "You got something you want to talk about?"

Lorelai reached for her coffee mug. "I had a fight with my dad. He said some things, I said some things, we were both mean-spirited. I felt small."

"You don't look small to me," Luke said.

She raised her eyes and smiled faintly. "Thank you," she said softly. "There's just so much going on right now—it's hard to feel like you can stand still."

"Lorelai, have you ever stood still?"

She chuckled. "When it snows, I stand still."

"So, when you feel overwhelmed, pretend its snowing."

"I can't pretend it's snowing."

"Stick your head in the freezer, you can pretend it's snowing."

"Cynic," she said.

The word hit him in the chest and put a lump at the base of his throat. "It can all work out, right?" he said suddenly. "Everything. For you, it will. I told you it would. Everything works out the way it has to, right? Right?"

"Right," Lorelai said. "I guess that's the only way it can. So that means that everything really is for the best."

"That's depressing."

"It doesn't have to be." She sipped her coffee again and reached for a donut. She took a large bite and swallowed, and after a moment, spoke again. "Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me something."

He looked at her warily. "What?"

"Promise me that if you feel like beating something up—anything: a parked car, a computer, Taylor, yourself—you'll take a minute, do something else. Call me. Take a walk. Take a breath. Go fishing. Do something. You have to stop beating at things. You've got to let the pangs sit in your stomach a while," Lorelai said. "Otherwise, you're going to be all… festery. Unhappy."

"You don't think I'm unhappy all the time?" he asked.

"Luke, come on. I think you like being cranky, but I've never thought you were unhappy before. Before," she repeated. "Look at us, here, we're having a conversation, we're ripping off the band-aids and exposing the wounds, and we're not bleeding to death, you haven't vanished into vapor or spontaneously combusted. See? It's possible to talk things out."

"And entirely uncomfortable," he said.

"Promise?"

He took the donut from her hand and took a bite, swallowing thickly. "I'll… try."

Lorelai grinned. He felt rewarded. "See? That's something." She looked at him side-long, resting her chin on her right shoulder. "All you can do is try."

He regarded her a long moment, and feeling himself start to color yet again, he looked past her towards the window. "The rain's stopped," he said. He rose and the lights flickered, flickered, and stayed.

"Hail Jesus!" Lorelai put her hands up and Luke, grasping them in his, pulled her to her feet. She looked ridiculous, he thought, in those clothes, and young. Her face was bare of make up; with her hair damp and curling from the rain, he imagined how she must have looked when she was Rory's age. Then and now, she was lovely. But that was a thought too big for the moment, and he was still tired.

Lorelai stretched. "I should go. My clothes—"

"I'll bring them by when they're dry." He shrugged out of his flannel and handed it to her. "Take this for the walk."

"But Luke! What will everyone say if they see you without your protective outerwear? You're practically naked!"

"It's been lovely sharing this moment with you, Lorelai; we should do this less often."

"Oh, come on, you big lug. You love me."

He turned and walked towards the door. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

"What about the diner?"

"The diner's closed tonight. I'm going to spend the evening getting drunk with Harvey. Reminisce about old times," Luke said.

"I hear Harvey's hard core. Tries to pick up hookers in the square," Lorelai said.

"I'll alert Taylor." He paused. "No, I really won't."

They walked through the diner, and Luke sent Caesar home, turned off the lights, and lead Lorelai out the door. She turned to him as they walked, wrapping his shirt about her tightly. She sighed lightly. "I haven't thought about the inn for almost this entire time. That was good." She smiled. "Hey, what, do you suppose, Stars Hollow does when the power goes out?"

"I know Kirk sits in the corner of his room at his mother's house, tucked in the fetal position, wailing like a kitten. It's attractive."

"Taylor uses his night vision goggles to spy on the neighbors!"

"And entertains himself the whole time."

"Ew, Luke. That's almost too dirty for a 'Dirty!'"

He thought about it. "I really have to agree. And I really wish I hadn't said it."

"I know. Say something else."

"Panties."

Lorelai laughed, grabbing his arm and tucking it in her own, leaning against him slightly. "Say it again!"

"Never."

"They're still in your sink, you know."

"Why are we still talking about panties?"

Lorelai laughed again, pointing at him. "You brought it up."

"Work, Lorelai, you're lots of work." He looked at her sidelong. "Will I ever win?"

She smiled up at him, and in the dim of the evening, he felt something within him swell, some sense he'd forgotten. "Oh, Luke. Keep the faith. Some day."

"Some day," he repeated.


	8. Eight: Rory, Lane, Taylor, and Kirk With...

Rory and Lane decided, when the rain stopped, to take a chance on Lorelai and run to Luke's. They saw both Luke and Lorelai leaving the dinner, Lorelai leaning on Luke's arm, her head thrown back as she laughed. Rory stopped, put her hand on Lane's elbow.

"Look at her: she's laughing," Rory said.

"She's Lorelai," Lane responded. "She laughs a lot."

"It's been a hard few weeks for her. She hasn't said much, but I know. Let's let her go. She sounds like she's having fun."

The two friends stood a moment. Lane turned to Rory with a smile. "You ever think they'll go out?"

Rory burst out laughing. "If they do, they should sell tickets!" She stopped. "Well, for some of it, anyway."

"Ew," Lane said.

"I know. Quick, say something that will make me forget."

"Naked Kirk."

"That's worse!"

Lane grabbed Rory's wrist and pulled her towards the diner. "Come on. We'll eat grilled cheese sandwiches and talk about which girls we knew in high school are likeliest to get fat."

As she walked with Lane, Rory watched her mother turning the corner, walking companionably with Luke. She smiled and felt warm—her mother hadn't really forgotten her, and if she had, it didn't matter. She'd see Lorelai later that evening, or on the weekend, or the following week when she came home to study. Things didn't change in Stars Hollow, and that was constant. She thought about what Lane said again, "there's more me to be," and sighed. If she thought about it hard enough and long enough, perhaps she'd see what that meant. She'd figure it out. Meanwhile, she sat at one of the stools behind the counter and chatted with Lane about what Taylor would do about the ruined foliage in the town square.


	9. Nine: Lorelai at Home

When Luke left her at her door, Lorelai called Sookie at the inn and told her she'd see her in the morning. She shut her laptop, turned off her cell, and huddled under a blanket on the couch, still wearing Luke's clothes. She tucked her chin to her chest and turned on the television, thinking sleepily that maybe they were right—things turned out for the best. Jason didn't matter, things would sort themselves out with her parents the way they always did, Rory was perfect, the inn would be fine, and eventually, Luke would be fine too. She thought about his hand on her wrist, about walking home with him, and just before she fell asleep, wished she knew this certainty would last.

She was pretty sure it wouldn't.


End file.
